


Leave behind your heartache (cast away)

by Sparklefingers



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, hanahaki, touch starved Doom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 04:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklefingers/pseuds/Sparklefingers
Summary: In the evening, when his mask is removed, two small blue flowers fall out.Hydrangeas, Victor realises.This does not answer any of his questions. Neither do any of the books he consults before falling asleep in his library in the early hours of the morning.





	Leave behind your heartache (cast away)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I haven't written anything beyond a university report in about ten years please be kind. 
> 
> This is dedicated to Stevie and the DoomStrange server. Mostly Stevie who I've been taunting with excerpts of this for like. A month. I hope it's okay!

Infuriating.

That is the best description of Stephen Strange, Victor thinks to himself. So many words could be said, paragraphs upon paragraphs written, but it all boils down to that one word. One simple word for one complex man.

A moan cuts through Victor’s musing, Stephen’s fingers scraping at the back of his armour fruitlessly. The man is a mess, eyes rolling back in his head and sweat sticking hair to his face, gasping for breath between moans and pleas for just a little more, yet a voice in the back of Victor’s mind insists that he is beautiful in his wanton abandon.

When Stephen comes with Victor’s name on his lips, he is glad his mask hides his softening expression.

* * *

When Victor removes his mask later, he finds a single pink petal stuck to the inside. The rest of the evening and well into the morning is spent checking and recasting magical wards.

Two days later, Stephen tries to warn Victor of a potential breach between dimensions occurring in Latveria. Victor scoffs. The sorcerer is several days late to warn him of it and he has already begun the process of sealing it. He goes to push past him for the door, not bothering to dismiss Stephen who knows his way out by now. His throat itches before he can pass the man, and he is unable to restrain a cough. A look of confusion crosses Stephen’s face, and before Victor can slap the hand away for its audacity the doctor pulls away with a small blue flower clutched between his fingers, plucked from the corner of the mask’s mouth.

“Victor? What is—”

“It is none of your concern.” Victor snaps, snatching the flower out of Stephen’s hand and storming out of the room. His former assessment of Stephen as infuriating comes back to the forefront of his mind as the man follows him.

“You can’t just keep walking out on me every time you don’t want to talk about something, you know. I have feelings.”

Victor scoffs. “Feelings are not a part of our arrangement, Strange. You are the one who set the terms, you cannot feign ignorance when it suits you.”

A small part of Victor feels bad for the hurt that flashes across Stephen’s face, but it is drowned out immediately by the overwhelming sense of pride at rendering the insufferably talkative man silent for once. “I had thought it need not saying, but you may see yourself out. I am not in need of your assistance and shall not require it in the future.” His cloak flairs satisfyingly as he sweeps past Stephen, taking care to seal the door behind himself this time.

In the evening, when his mask is removed, two small blue flowers fall out.

Hydrangeas, Victor realises.

This does not answer any of his questions. Neither do any of the books he consults before falling asleep in his library in the early hours of the morning.

* * *

“I know why you keep coming back to me.”

Victor curls his gauntleted hand in Stephen’s hair, just shy of painfully tight as the man kneels in front of his throne. The armour never comes off during sex. Luckily for Victor, Stephen seems to enjoy it. He protests, claims that he cares not for what is beneath the mask. Would accept him for whatever he looks like. A lie, Victor knows. No one could care for the monstrosity he is. And yet he finds himself drawn to the pretty lies Stephen spouts.

Perhaps one day… but no. His hand clenches tighter, causing a noise of pain from Stephen that creates a delicious tightening of his throat around Victor’s cock. His visage would ruin this tenuous thing he has. While he despises to admit dependence on anyone even in the sanctuary of his own mind, Victor has grown to care deeply for these meetings between the two sorcerers. Even if they mean more to Victor than they do to Stephen.

“You enjoy the powerlessness. In a fair fight you may best me, but you know I would never allow a fair fight between us.” Victor pulls Stephen off long enough to allow him to draw in a ragged breath of air. “You enjoy knowing that at any moment I could choke the life out of you and claim the trappings of your station, and none but your dear wife would think to question the circumstances in which I happened upon them.”

He drags Stephen up by his hair, pulling him close to the mask that still separates them to meet the man’s eyes through the metal slits.

“Now choke on what you so clearly desire, Doctor. Give in the urges that only Doom can satisfy for you.”

Stephen is unceremoniously pushed back down, mouth dropping open as he holds Victor’s gaze with eyes so dark only the barest ring of colour shows around the wide pupils. A furtive movement of his hand indicates that Stephen is seeking out his own pleasure, Victor chooses to allow it. That the sorcerer is so affected by his actions brings a swell of possessive pride to Victor’s chest, not that he would dare admit it where any could hear.

As he nears his completion, Victor feels a pain where the pride in his chest once was. While pain is no stranger to him, this is not one he has felt before. Already too far gone to stop, a coughing fit overcomes Victor as he releases into Stephen’s waiting mouth. A shudder below him lets him know the doctor has also found his release. A shame, as Victor enjoys taking Stephen apart.

The coughing fit subsides and the pain lessens, but Stephen wipes his mouth and beard clean and puts a hand on Victor’s shoulder comfortingly, an infuriating look of concern across his flushed face.

“Are you okay, Victor?”

Concern. Worry. Pity. Unacceptable emotions directed towards a man such as himself.

“It is none of your concern.”

Belatedly, he realises he has said this before. It is useless to waste energy hoping Stephen will not notice, and the crease between his eyebrows as he frowns tells volumes.

“I’ve never heard you cough before. I didn’t know you even could. If you don’t want me to examine you, I could recommend—”

“If you continue to insist on prattling on about matters that are of no concern, much less of yours, I have other matters to attend to.”

Victor stands abruptly, tucking himself back in, smoothing out his tunic and stepping carefully past Stephen. “You know the way out.”

The mask comes off when Victor is alone again. It is filled with white and blue flowers. Pain stabs through his chest again and blue flowers tumble from his mouth as he coughs, landing neatly on top of the pile.

* * *

The flowers consume Victor’s waking hours and disrupt his sleeping ones. No book he possesses contains a single mention of it, no resource he can find, buy, or steal gives even the slightest hint.

After a week of no contact, Stephen returns. Victor feels pain well up in his chest, and he angrily dismisses the sorcerer without a second thought. The pain intensifies after he leaves and after a fit of coughing Victor has to remove the mask or choke on the blue flowers crushed against his face.

Stephen tries again the next day. And the next. And the one after that. Again and again Victor demands he leaves, even going so far as to have his Doombots remove Stephen physically.

The pain continues to grow, until eventually Victor is forced to admit there is only one library likely to contain some hint of what plagues him. Incidentally, one of the few libraries he could not break into unnoticed.

Stephen had left him alone for another week since he was forcibly removed from Victor’s castle. The surprise on his face when Victor knocks on the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum is almost worth the humiliation of needing his assistance.

Almost.

“I require your library.”

Stephen blinks as he processes this, then smiles wryly.

“And here I was thinking you’d come to apologise.”

“Doom does not make apologies.”

Stephen laughs at him. It stings more than it should.

“I didn’t realise it had gotten bad enough that I was back on third person terms with you.” His face softens, concerned. “Was it something I did?”

Victor feels pain in his chest. Not the now usual pain that accompanies the flowers, but something different. Something… deeper. He has a second to wonder whether this is a new development of his affliction before he is overcome by a fit of coughing and more familiar pain that causes him to double over. Stephen is instantly kneeling with him, pulling at Victor’s mask. He tries to push the hands away but the coughing intensifies and Stephen succeeds after a brief struggle. Infuriatingly, he can breathe better without the mask on, but he is unable to help the flurry of pink and purple blossoms tinged with blood that fall from behind it.

Stephen is frozen, crouched next to Victor holding his mask. His eyes flick between the mass of flowers on the steps between them and Victor’s face, finally bared to him.

As the coughing fit subsides enough for Victor to regain control, he pulls his hood further around himself to conceal his face.

“I require your library.”

Stephen glances again at the blood-stained flowers, then back to Victor.

He stands aside as Victor enters the Sanctum.

* * *

Hours pass in the library as Victor pores over tome after tome. Stephen hovers around, sometimes literally, sometimes gathering new books, sometimes studying across the table from Victor. Whenever he thinks Victor is not looking he studies his still unmasked face and slighter frame now he has removed the rest of his trademark armour. He finds that this is not entirely disagreeable. He has yet to see the revulsion that should be across Stephen’s face at the sight of his mangled visage.

Victor feels some gratitude towards Stephen that he did not make him actually ask for help. Had the tables been turned, he would surely have made the sorcerer beg for his aid.

As he pulls his head out of the latest useless book he realises that Stephen has fallen asleep face down in a book across the table from him. Realistically he should be annoyed that he has fallen asleep when he should be helping him, instead he finds himself watching the slow movement of his body as he breathes deeply and evenly. The gentle flutter of his eyelashes against his cheek. The angle of his arms that partly cushion his head and cannot be comfortable. Doubtless, he will awake with a sore neck and shoulders.

Stunning.

The thought shocks Victor. A single perfect pink flower erupts from his throat in a surprised cough.

“Hanahaki.”

It takes years of training for Victor to turn in a slow and controlled manner to face the new inhabitant in the room rather than wheel around wildly as his instincts scream to.

Clea is standing in the doorway to the library, watching.

“A rare affliction from the Dark Dimension. It will kill you.”

Victor scowls, then remembers his lack of face covering and carefully schools his face neutral. It has been many years since he last had to bother concealing his expression.

“There is a cure. There is always a cure.”

Clea walks into the room and circles the table to stand behind Stephen.

“Your love must return your feelings, or you will die.” She lovingly brushes aside a lock of hair that had fallen in Stephen’s face. Victor feels jealousy coil in the pit of his stomach, hot and acidic. “I would recommend you begin with telling him how you feel. He can be remarkably dense about his effect on people.”

She rests a hand on Stephen’s cheek and the still sleeping sorcerer nuzzles into it, forcing the jealousy up higher and Victor coughs up another handful of flowers.

“If you are cruel to him, or if you break his heart, you will not need to worry about the Hanahaki ending you.” The smile is far too saccharine for the words she speaks. “None will ever find your body where I hide it.”

Clea leans and kisses Stephen’s cheek. “My love, you’ve fallen asleep in the library again.” Stephen begins to stir and rubs his face into Clea’s hand with a quiet moan. “You must come to bed or you’ll be complaining all tomorrow about your back again.”

With a quiet grumble, Stephen rouses himself further and gets up with blurry eyes and leans against Clea. He seems surprised to see Victor still sitting across from him, and still bereft of his mask.

Stephen opens his mouth, and Clea pre-empts him. “You are no use to him exhausted, Stephen. Come. Bed. You can return once you are rested.”

As they leave the room, Clea gives Victor a knowing look. He is unsure if he is grateful to the woman or despises her for her assumptions.

* * *

Victor throws a book across the room in a fit of rage.

Knowing the name of his affliction should have made it easier to trace down, but he still hits dead end after dead end. No trace of this wretched Hanahaki exists in any of the texts he finds. The cursed woman likely made it up to mock him. What kind of a curse forces the victim to conform to such arbitrary rules as having love returned? How would it even quantify such a thing, much less in an individual not suffering from the curse? The whole thing is ridiculous. Most of all the notion that he, Victor Von Doom, could be in love with one such as Stephen Strange. That Clea had not seemed to care when she asserted that he was infatuated with her husband and had in fact encouraged him to confess and seek his reciprocation was also a suspicious act.

Perhaps… Perhaps the sorceress intends to kill him through this plan. He thinks back on the incidents where he expelled flowers. Could his own vulnerability be involved? Perhaps. And to encourage him to lay himself completely bare by confessing such ridiculous feelings to Stephen…

His thoughts are interrupted by another fit of coughing, purple blossoms this time. More blood. The pain lessens but does not completely subside with the coughing this time. Victor rubs his chest and contemplates this new attack. He had been considering the idea of exposing his feelings to Stephen. In the past he had allowed the sorcerer closer than any other. To turn that against him, to encourage him to do so further to his own ruin… And perhaps Stephen’s wife had not been as amenable to their arrangement as Stephen had claimed. To hear him tell it, she was happy so long as he told her who he planned on sleeping with and particularly impressive encounters. If this weren’t the case though, it could make sense that she would want vengeance for her husband’s infidelity.

As Victor contemplates this latest revelation, Stephen walks back into the room. He had not realised how much time had passed, but Stephen looks well rested so some hours must have passed. He glances at the book lying on the ground across the room from Victor.

“Going well, I see.”

Victor practically snarls at Stephen.

“Destroying my library won’t cure you.” Stephen takes his spot across from him and pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen and begins to write. “Let’s go through your symptoms again. You’ve been experiencing chest pains, following by coughing fits containing flowers. I recall finding a flower in your mask four weeks ago. Was this the first instance?”

He feels naked without his mask and itches to replace it and hide his expression, but to do so now would be to admit weakness in front of Stephen.

“No. It first occurred two days prior to that.”

“And what were you doing before it happened?”

Victor smirks and responds simply.

“You.”

Stephen’s brow furrows for a second, then his face lights up in delight as he laughs and writes another note. Something in Victor’s chest feels warm, but the urge to cough doesn’t overtake him for now.

“Okay, was sex a factor in any of the other incidents?” Stephen’s tone shifts to something more relaxed, less professional. Victor also finds himself relaxing more in response as he considers the other occurrences.

“One other. You were on your knees for me.”

“So those were the only two incidents where sex was involved? I guess we can rule out that as a factor then.” Stephen draws a line through something in his notes. “What else could be a contributing factor? Were you exposed to any spells, casters, or mystical phenomenon before the first incident?”

Again, Victor pauses to think over the last few weeks. He nods after a minute.

“The dimensional breach you came to warn me of. I had begun work sealing it the day of the first incident… I should have seen the connection earlier.” He had theorised that breach led to the Dark Dimension. This could lend weight to what Clea had said. Or could also be the proof Victor needed that she was the cause of his ailment.

“Victor, tell me what is on your mind.”

Victor hesitates. “How certain are you that your wife is agreeable to our… arrangement?”

The look of utter confusion across Stephen’s face is almost worth how loathe Victor is to put voice to his theory.

“What?”

“I believe that she could be the cause of my affliction. The dimensional breach was of her home realm. She possesses knowledge of it that I have found no text to corroborate. Not so much as a mention of this Hanahaki. Yet she claims to be familiar with it. I believe she may be making an attempt on my life.”

To his credit, Stephen does appear to think on Victor’s words, although he suspects it is only to construct an argument as to why it is impossible.

“Okay. You think that Clea is… unhappy. And rather than discuss it with me, or try to take it out on me, the one she’d actually have the problem with, and despite the fact that she is _very_ happy for me to sleep with you, she’s trying to murder you. While you are in my home. In front of me. While pretending to help you.”

Victor scowls at Stephen, glad now for his bare face so Stephen can see how displeased he is with the trivialisation of his theory.

“The parameters outlined by her are ludicrous. There is no way there exists a curse tied to such arbitrary measures in reality. She is clearly borrowing from fairy tales to hide her own actions.”

With a sigh, Stephen writes on the paper again. “Okay, it’s on the list. Happy? Your theory is noted. Now since we don’t have anything else to go on, why don’t you tell me what Clea told you?”

Scoffing, Victor gets up from his seat to stretch his legs and pace. “Ridiculous woman. She claims it will kill me unless the object of my affections returns my love. I ask you, how is a curse to know love? Much less from a subject it has not been placed upon. Utter nonsense.”

“You’re in love?” Stephen seems genuinely surprised. A peculiar look crosses his face for an instant, then is gone before Victor can figure it out. “Well, then, couldn’t you try and get them to return your feelings? As much as I’ve loved having you live in my library for the past 24 hours, if we have a potential cure, we should try it.”

“It is not as simple as that. Doom is above such trivialities as love.” Stephen levels a look at Victor for his return to the third person which he chooses to ignore. “Matters of the heart are for lesser men. She is mistaken.”

Stephen rolls his eyes so hard Victor can practically hear it. “Humour me. Think about everyone you know, and who you find the least reprehensible. Is there any chance that someone who isn’t emotionally constipated might think that it could be love? We’re trying to save your life here.” 

“It is a pointless exercise. She has no idea of what she speaks. I could not love one such as you.”

The silence is deafening. Stephen looks as though his brain has ceased functioning while he processes the implied statement. Victor is frozen in shock at his careless words.

Pain suddenly wracks Victor’s chest again, forcing him to his knees as he begins coughing again. Blue petals tumble onto the floor along with a steady trickle of blood and Stephen rushes to Victor’s side. His hands glow with magic as he tries to ease the pain, but Victor remains kneeling on the ground choking for several minutes before he is able to control himself again. Stephen summons a glass of water and hands it to Victor who drinks it without comment or thanks. As soon as he is able, he stands and seats himself at the table again, intent on ignoring the fit. Stephen sits across from him.

“Clea thinks you love me.”

A statement, not a question.

“She is mistaken.”

Stephen frowns in thought. His fingers tap against the table without rhythm until he notices the glare Victor is shooting him.

“Then we need to figure out who it is. Your attacks are getting worse. This is our only lead. Victor, I need you to cooperate for once. Who else could it be? What about Tony Stark?”

Victor snorts derisively and Stephen sighs.

“Namor?”

A laugh at that.

“Sue?”

Victor shakes his head. “Doom loves no one.”

“Methinks Doom doth protest too much.”

Withering doesn’t go far enough to describe the look Victor shoots at Stephen. “Your incessant prattling helps nothing, Strange.”

“Oh, because you’re getting so far doing what you’re doing. My mistake for following the one lead we have on your condition and trying to save your ungrateful life.” Stephen crosses his arms with a petulant look.

For some reason, the warm feeling returns to Victor’s chest looking at him. It is a welcome reprieve from the pain. He frowns and rubs at his chest, considering. If there were someone he felt most relaxed around, it was Stephen. Another man might even say he felt comfortable around him. Victor’s mask laying unworn on the table between them was an event that could not occur with any other in his life, even under the exceptional circumstances. Victor sits unarmoured and trusting in this man’s library, asking for his help. Thinking upon the attacks, many were in relation to Stephen’s presence or thinking about the man.

There were certainly poorer choices of man to love. The sorcerer supreme was closer than most to being worthy of standing alongside a man of Victor’s station. Intelligent, powerful in ability and reputation, pleasing to the eye, and an excellent fuck. He narrows his eyes as he considers Stephen in this new light.

“I feel like you owe me at least a five second warning before you make an attempt on my life after everything I’ve done for you.”

The atrocious sense of humour was something Victor could do without. But it was… acceptable.

“Should I decide that someone is less reprehensible than most others, how can I guarantee that they will return those feelings? I do not have the luxury of time which is normally required for courtship.”

“Start by telling them I suppose. Hearing someone say ‘I love you’ can make you rethink your relationship with them sometimes.” Stephen sighs. “Although I suppose given your reputation it could be difficult to consider. Depends on your relationship with them I guess.”

“I am in love with you.”   
  
Stephen nods. “Yeah, just say it like that.”

Victor decides in that moment that he could gladly throttle the sorcerer.

“You are insufferable. Utterly unbearable. Why do I condone your presence? I take it back.”

Stephen blinks in shock and stands from his seat. “Wait, what? Take what back? Victor?”

Crossing his arms, Victor glares at Stephen. “You asked me who I find least reprehensible. Despite your infuriating nature, you are the one who closest fits that description. You told me to confess my feelings. I have done so. As you can see, it has been greatly beneficial. Behold. Doom is cured.” Victor begins to cough again, covering his mouth and coming away with another handful of petals that he shows to Stephen. “Your treatment has been a complete success, Doctor. I am indebted to you.”

“Hey, wait—”

“Doom does not have time to wait, Strange. Either you love Doom, or Doom shall perish. You have committed yourself thus far. What will you do now?”

Stephen’s fingers shake, more pronounced than usual, as he pushes his hair back from his face and looks anywhere but at Victor.

“I can’t do this right now. I… fuck.”

Stephen leaves the library.

Victor’s chest hurts.

* * *

Victor has been awake too long. His eyes burn as he refuses to allow them to close. Words blur together on the pages of the books he still desperately scours, determined that one will hold the key to his salvation.

He refuses to think about Stephen leaving the room several hours ago.

He refuses to think about the rejection.

He refuses to think about the pain in his chest that is not from the flowers he continues to cough up.

He dozes for a while. Drifts in and out of consciousness, opening his eyes long enough to read another sentence of the tome in front of him before losing consciousness for an undetermined length of time.

When he wakes properly, Clea is sitting across the table from him.

“You said it would work.” Victor rasps, voice rough from sleep.

“I said you should begin there. You have him thinking about it. Give him time.”

Victor sits up straight and rolls his shoulders to get stiff muscles moving. “Doom does not have time. If you know how to end this affliction, you will divulge the information.”

Clea smiles at Victor. “You’ve never kissed him, you know.”

“There were better things for his mouth to do.”

“And somehow you’re still wondering why he doesn’t love you yet.”

“Why are you helping your husband fall in love with another?”

“Because I love him. I want him to be happy. He has room in his heart for so many and denying himself that love would only cause him pain. Losing you would also cause him pain.”

Victor scowls. He decides in that moment that he despises Clea’s smile.

She stands and fixes Victor with a pointed look. “Find him and speak with him. You do not have much time left to you before you cannot draw breath.” As she leaves the room, she gently touches Victor on the shoulder. He does not repress the violent roll of his shoulder to dislodge it.

He sits there for several minutes after Clea leaves, then decides that there is little point to further exploration of the tomes in the library. Not a single one has revealed any clue to his ailment. Continuing along these lines will not yield results. As Stephen himself pointed out, the only lead he has is the one provided by Clea. There is the possibility that she is attempting to dispose of Victor. There is also the possibility she cares for Stephen’s happiness and in doing so is attempting to save Victor’s life.

The Sanctum is full of twists and turns; corridors that seem to go on forever only to end in a dead end, rooms locked and unlocked, doorless openings to spaces the size of a broom closet or a theatre. Artefacts line the corridors with no discernible order, some vases and statues that seem appropriately placed, some items that appear to be casually strewn on a plinth for the sake of a horizontal surface to rest it upon. At one point, he walks past what appears to be a perfectly ordinary radio displayed in a glass case. Victor explores the senseless building for what feels like hours, resisting the urge to touch and investigate the countless artefacts of likely immeasurable power, and is certain he has doubled back on himself more times than he can count and is entirely lost.

A door creaks open as Victor walks past, prompting him to look through it.

The room is dimly lit but for candles in tall holders, enough that he can see but not enough to hurt the eyes. Pillows are strewn throughout the room, and incense burns gently from the corner. Like the hallways, this room is also filled with artefacts of various origin. Wands, orbs, vases, scrolls, and more things than could be described are resting on any horizontal surface, a few under glass domes, some on the floor, while others are suspended in the air with nothing that can be seen to hold them aloft.

At the centre of this chaos is Stephen, seated cross-legged in a ring of pillows. For once, he touches the ground. A glance finds the cloak hovering to the side of the room, seemingly amusing itself with the plume of incense smoke.

Stephen’s breath comes evenly and deeply, his eyes closed in an expression of utter calm. Victor stands in the doorway, watching him. Minutes pass, entranced by the man’s utter focus and serenity, before he finally feels compelled to enter the room. He seats himself facing Stephen, who opens a single eye and raises a brow questioningly.

Victor closes his eyes and attempts to focus on peace.

Even with his eyes closed, Victor can feel Stephen beside him. Not quite a heat, but something indescribable radiates from the sorcerer that Victor takes comfort in. He feels that even if the other were utterly silent in his movements, he could tell if Stephen decided to leave from the absence of this radiance.

Time passes. Victor does not know how much. Without a signal, both men open their eyes at once.

“Why are you here?” Stephen’s voice is low. Like Victor he appears reluctant to break whatever has settled between them in this room.

“Because you are.” The words come without thought. So many of Victor’s words are meticulously chosen, but in this moment the truth is all that will do. He came because Stephen was here. He stayed because Stephen was here. Should he leave, Victor would follow.

In this moment, this space, surrounded by the warmth of Stephen’s presence, Victor realises that Clea had been correct. The words he had spoken before, testing them, solidified in his heart. They were true.

“I am in love with you, Stephen.”

A statement. Not a demand. Simply a statement of what Victor now knew to be true.

Stephen nods slowly. “I believe you.” He winces, “Okay, that is… that is not what you’re supposed to say to something like that. Sorry. And sorry for leaving before. I didn’t know what to do, so I just... left.”

Silence fills the room again. Victor and Stephen watch each other, content to sort through their own thoughts until one of them knows how to proceed.

“I certainly… like you.” Stephen says finally. “I always have. You’re fascinating. I count you among my few friends.”

Victor snorts with laughter. “You have more friends than any other I know. How they stay despite your constant theatrics and self-pity, I will never understand.” 

Stephen flushes in annoyance and some embarrassment. “Hey, you’re the one who just confessed their love for me. Apparently, I’ve got something going for me.”

A smile creeps across Victor’s face, and Stephen is caught off guard at the expression. “You have magnificent… assets.”

A beat.

Stephen’s face erupts in a smile. Victor’s chest feels tight and for a moment he’s worried he’ll begin to cough again.

“You made a joke. That was a joke.”

“Despite abstaining from the practice, I am aware of how they work.” He can’t help but keep the smile on his face, reflecting Stephen’s beaming face. “However, should you tell anyone of this, I will deny it.”

Stephen moves closer to Victor. “You know, there’s something I’ve wanted to try every time we’ve slept together. Close your eyes.”

Stephen slowly, deliberately, settles himself into Victor’s lap. Unbidden, Victor holds his breath. Loath as he is to follow orders, he is far too afraid of breaking this precious moment and closes his eyes.

Soft. Warm. Stephen brushes their faces together cheek to cheek, and Victor can hear every breath the other man takes. His lips brush his ear, and Victor has to hold himself back from shivering. A kiss is placed on his temple. His cheekbone. His jaw. Every one light, fleeting, exploratory. Not once does Stephen hesitate to kiss the scarred flesh that Victor abhors.

Victor has barely drawn a breath since Stephen claimed his lap.

He can feel Stephen’s lips hovering above his own.

“May I?” Stephen’s voice has dropped into a lower register, and the repressed shiver finally runs up Victor’s spine.

For the first time in years, Victor whispers the word no adversary has dragged from his lips.

“Please.”

The instant Stephen’s lips touch Victor’s he regrets every second that he hid his face away behind a mask from this miracle of a man. Soft and without a hint of hesitation, Stephen kisses him chastely and with clear intent. Victor feels warm, cared for. Too much to be conveyed in any ordinary kiss. He reaches up, hand cupping the back of Stephen’s head and fingers tangling in his hair (so soft, how he’d longed to touch this hair without the barrier of his armour), and Victor deepens the kiss. He longs to be closer to Stephen, a physical need pulls at what feels like his very soul, and he pulls the man closer, wrapping his other arm around his waist.

Time doesn’t matter. Pride doesn’t matter. Oxygen is barely a passing thought. Victor does not care how he is exposing himself to Stephen, who in this moment could hurt the king far more than any who has come before him. All that matters is keeping Stephen close and the beautiful moan pulled from the back of his throat that rumbles through Victor’s very being, the hands that clutch at Victor’s shoulders to keep him close.

Eventually they part for air. Victor feels the loss of those lips on his own deeply and physically despite his continued close proximity. Their foreheads press against each other, ragged breaths consuming the same air.

Victor finally opens his eyes.

Stephen is breathtaking. Flushed with pupils blown wide, Stephen looks more wrecked than he ever did in Victor’s bed.

The words ring true and inescapable in Victor’s heart. He does not need to say them for Stephen to read it in his eyes.

He loves this man.

An irrefutable truth. He had first worked his way into his bed but was now firmly planted in his heart where none had ever taken root before.

“I have been thinking about doing that since the first time we were together.” Stephen’s voice is a rumble that drives Victor crazy.

“Did I meet your exacting standards?”

Stephen grins into Victor’s neck and places several kisses along it. “You certainly get points for enthusiasm, but a repeat performance is most definitely required.”

Teeth scrape teasingly before gently biting down into Victor’s neck. Sensation sings through him, shivers dancing deliciously up his spine and spurring him into action. His larger frame is useful in pushing Stephen down into the cushions surrounding them and capturing his lips once more. Stephen hooks a leg around Victor’s hips, displaying far too much flexibility for his age. Victor doesn’t care in this moment, far too busy making up for lost time and running his hands over every part of Stephen he can touch. He tugs at Stephen’s shirt (so soft, it had always looked so soft and silky on Stephen’s lithe frame) and murmurs against his lips, “If you care about keeping this shirt intact, you will remove it.”

Stephen presses up into Victor to recapture his lips and another delicious shiver runs up Victor’s spine as Stephen’s magic flares between them and in an instant Stephen’s bare body is pressed up against Victor’s equally nude form.

It takes a moment for Victor to realise the quiet whining noise is coming from his own throat. The feeling of Stephen against his body is all consuming and all he can do is touch. He runs careful fingers through Stephen’s chest hair (soft, so many parts of Stephen are so soft. How has he not broken himself against the hard expanse that is Victor?) feeling the defined muscles of his arms and torso (skin so soft covering that hard flesh), a hand feeling all the way up Stephen’s long (gorgeous) leg. Victor’s lips follow his hands, kissing every inch of previously forbidden skin (stupid, so damn stupid to deny himself this so long).

Stephen arches and undulates under the desperate ministrations, beautiful (breathtaking) and unabashedly enjoying Victor’s undivided attention. A gasp as Victor nips at his hipbones, a shiver as his leg is spread wider and a moan as the tender flesh of his inner thigh is nipped and kissed and licked. Victor wraps his hand around Stephen’s cock, already hard from the thorough exploration of his body, and gives it an exploratory lick. The experience is new to him, but he is encouraged by Stephen throwing his head back and keening. He takes the head into his mouth carefully, keeping his teeth away from sensitive skin, and feels Stephen spasm underneath him before he presses him down with a firm hand.

Victor pulls off and rests his cheek against Stephen’s thigh and meets his wrecked gaze. “Stay still, you insufferable fool. You’ll hurt yourself.” He keeps his hand where it is and takes Stephen into his mouth again and almost chokes when Stephen buries his hands in his hair. The feeling is indescribably good and Victor leans into the touch with a deep, rumbling moan that sets Stephen off as well as it resonates along his length.

With Stephen’s hands gently stroking through his hair, Victor takes his time exploring the feel of Stephen in his mouth. The taste isn’t as bad as he had always imagined it to be. Cautiously, he takes more in, only to choke as Stephen gasps and thrust his hips wildly. He is immediately apologetic, trying to pull Victor away and let him breathe, but Victor brushes the movements away. Taking care to press Stephen’s hips into the cushions with his hand this time, Victor licks from Stephen’s base to tip. The shuddering moan is accompanied by Stephen’s hands returning to Victor’s hair and he is glad for his precaution as he feels Stephen’s core surge against his hand.

“Control yourself, Stephen.”

Stephen’s cock twitches against Victor’s cheek. Victor smiles wickedly.

“You enjoy it when I say your name?”

Stephen’s cheeks flush.

“Stephen…?” Victor purrs, followed by a long swipe of the tongue. Stephen keens and pulls at Victor’s hair.

“Please…” Stephen is beautiful, flushed and needy. Victor can’t find it in him to deny this gorgeous creature anything and swallows him down again. His eyes water as he pushes takes Stephen’s cock further than before and he can feel his gag reflex beginning to act up, but works past it. Stephen’s blown wide eyes, the hand that moves from Victor’s hair to support him sitting up enough to watch Victor with adoration, these things make it worth the repressed choking. The feeling of a cock in his mouth is not one he would be in any rush to repeat were it not for how Stephen’s reactions made his blood sing.

For this man, Victor would raze countries to the ground.

Feeling more confident, Victor moans around Stephen to gauge his reaction. The elbow keeping him aloft collapses along with the sorcerer who keens, core working once more under Victor’s hand in a desperate attempt to thrust into Victor’s warm, welcoming mouth.

“Victor, please. Oh… oh by the Vishanti, Victor…” The hand in his hair pulls hard. “Victor I’m so close. Please, oh fuck, please… Can I?”

Stephen is not the only one who enjoys hearing their name pass the lips of the other. Every breathy plea of his name is another fire set under Victor’s skin. The doctor has burnt his name upon Victor’s very soul.

Nothing compares to the reverent cry of his name as Stephen comes into his mouth. He doesn’t care that it’s too much, that he chokes in an undignified manner and has to pull away to cough and clear his airways. The sound of his name spoken in such ecstasy will ring through Victor’s heart until his eventual demise. Every previous sexual encounter pales in comparison to this magnificent display.

The silence that settles in the room is comfortable, Stephen’s quiet gasps the only thing that can be heard. Victor wipes his face clean, hesitating for a moment before deciding to clean his hand on his tunic. He can have it washed later.

After a minute of recovery, Stephen pushes himself to sitting and pulls Victor in for a kiss with both hands cradling his face.

“Let me take care of you?” he whispers, thumbs stroking his cheeks gently.

Victor’s face heats and he wishes for the safety of his mask. “That… will not be required.”

A second passes before Stephen’s face splits into a wicked grin. “It won’t, will it? How very interesting. Did I effect you that much?”

“Did you really invoke the Vishanti during sex?”

The grin doesn’t fade from Stephen’s face for a second. What an infuriating mess of a man he is.

“It’s hardly the first time, you know.”

Jealousy flares in Victor’s chest and Stephen seems to pick up on it, stroking his cheeks again and kissing him softly.

“I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about you. But…” Stephen traces Victor’s lips gently with his thumb, leaving tingles in his wake. “You haven’t coughed the entire time you’ve been here. I think that confirms what I needed to know about my feelings. They aren’t just because I want you to live.”

Their lips meet gently. Stephen breathes the words into Victor’s mouth, his soul. “I love you. It’s undeniable at this point. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I love you, Victor.” That grin spreads across his face again. “Don’t you dare think this means you can get away with things though. I love you, but I’m still prepared to kick your ass.”

A matching grin creeps across Victor’s face. “And do not be fooled into thinking that my affections will spare your allies from facing me in battle. You, however? I believe we have far more entertaining manners of settling our differences going forward.”

Stephen laughs, and the things Victor would do to keep him like this astound him.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> I uh. May write a followup one day. With Doom/Stephen/Clea. Because that idea will not leave me alone.


End file.
